Killian

“Where the hell are you going?”

Jax’s question stops me short. So close to the exit, and yet so far. I turn and adopt what I hope is a bland expression. “To bed. Catch a nap.”

Yeah, that goes about as well as expected. The guys look at me as if I’d just said I wanted one of them to put a diaper on me. Once they get over their horror, the questions start flying.

“Bed? There had better be a woman waiting in that bed.”

“More like three,” Whip adds. “It’s freaking four o’clock. You don’t go up to bed at four for anything other than three women.”

“Is that a new rule?” I deadpan.

“It ought to be,” Rye retorts, disgust still riding high on his face.

“Seriously, Kills?” Jax shakes his head. “Are we old men now?”

I can’t tell them the truth. That I do have a woman waiting for me. Or that Libby is better than three women, better than any amount of women. So I have to stand here looking like a killjoy and a dick. “I’m just tired.” Lame. Lame. Lame.

“Fucking lame, man.” Rye shakes his head.

I keep my mouth shut.

“Next thing you’ll be telling us you have a headache,” Whip says, his nose wrinkling like he’s scenting something ripe.

“Now that you mention it,” I start with a forced grin.

They all roll their eyes and groan. Jax tosses a water bottle at my head. I catch it mid-air.

“Take some aspirin and buck up,” he says, chucking a small pill bottle next.

I catch that too and clutch it in my hand. Fucking hell. I’m stuck. We have a rare night off. After we wrapped up our run-through and initial sound check, Libby went upstairs, saying she was taking some time for herself. None of the guys questioned that. Why should they? She’s entitled to some personal space.

I am not given the same leeway. No, they want to hang out, go to a bar and check out the local scene—which means women. Ordinarily, I’d be down with spending time with the guys. They’re my best friends; we’ve been apart for nearly a year. But having to push off advances from women without the guys figuring out why? Not easy. And not fun.

Neither is continuing to pretend that Libby is just my friend. I can’t touch her the way I want to, which is pretty much all the time and all over. I practically have to sit on my hands to keep from reaching for her. Makes me damn grumpy.

Worse? Libby has been sliding me looks all day. And they were not sexy, when-are-you-going-to-be-inside-of-me-again looks. She’s thinking things. Never a good sign when it’s accompanied by frowns.

Scottie talked to her earlier, so it’s a pretty good bet that’s what it’s about. But I can’t figure if she’s mad or not. And I want to know. Now. When she cut out on the evening early, it wasn’t like I could say, “Oh, hey, I’m leaving with Libby too.” I’m stuck biding my time.

I might have channeled my inner toddler and fucking pouted were it not for the fact that the guys would wonder about that too. Fuck it.

Frustration claws its way up my throat, and I blurt out the one thing I know will make them back off, even if it humiliates me in the process. “I have the shits, all right?”

Three sets of shocked faces stare back at me.

“Now can I go, or is there anything else you wanted?”

Rye clears his throat. “Dude, just go. I mean, take care of you and all that.”

“Grab some Pepto or something,” Whip adds helpfully.

“Didn’t you just use that bathroom?” Jax darts a glare toward the bathroom in question. “You better not have befouled it—”

I ping the water bottle back at him. “Shut the hell up.”

I’m never living this down. I’ll be Senõr Shitpants for the whole tour. But it sets me free. “I’ll meet up with you later,” I tell them as I head for the door.

“Not if you’re still Crappy McGee,” Rye calls out.

“Maybe we’d better have Jules order a box of Depends just in case.”

Yep. The whole tour.

When I finally let myself into her room, I’m tense, irritable, and ready to climb the damn walls.

Libby is in the bedroom and calls out a faint “hey” as I set the keycard down on the console and toe off my shoes. My insides are still jumpy, but I can’t ignore the simple fact that walking into a space that contains Liberty is like stepping into a hot shower after a long show. My muscles release. I can breathe. I feel like myself again.

Her disembodied voice comes from the bedroom. “You know what sucks?”

“When cable networks decided to split TV seasons in half?” I peel my shirt off and toss it aside, heading her way. “I mean, what is that shit? Don’t make us pay just because you have a slow-as-fuck production schedule.”

“Don’t really watch TV.”

Halting in the doorway, I press a hand to my heart with a pained groan. “That’s it; we can’t be together anymore. And what the hell are you doing?”

Liberty stands on her tiptoes at the top of the bed, her sweet ass peeking out from under the edge of one of my T-shirts while she tries to reach something on the ceiling. “What I wouldn’t give for a broom. I’m trying to get this moth—”

My yelp effectively cuts her off. I scramble back to the edge of the door. “Moth? Where is the fucking moth!”

Libby turns, her mouth hanging open. “What on Earth?”

A cold sweat breaks out over my skin as I eye the tiny hell devil fluttering around the pot light over the bed. Jesus, did I miss that? It makes a move my way, and I shout, jumping farther back. “Kill it, woman! Kill. It!”

Libby sputters out a laugh then does a double-take when I fall onto the arm chair. “You’re serious.”

I don’t take my eyes of Mothra. “Are you going to kill it, or am I calling security?”

Snickering, she picks up a pillow.

Horror arcs through my gut. “Not the pillow—” She smashes it into the moth. And I shudder. “Damn it, I’m not using that pillow. Ever again.”

“We’ll wash the case.”

“Not good enough. Put the pillow in the hall.”

Libby gives me a side-long look as she grabs a tissue and cleans up the little moth carcass. Or I think that’s what she’s doing. I can’t watch.

“Is it gone?”

Libby’s warm thighs slide over mine, and her weight settles on me. Even though I’m still creeped out by the moth previously hanging out above my bed—just fucking waiting to get me when I slept—my hands immediately seek her, smoothing over her soft skin and grabbing hold of her ass. God, I love her ass, plump yet toned. I could squeeze it all day.

She makes a little throaty noise, her arms coming up to wrap around my neck, and heat flares up my thighs. I tug her closer, wanting her over my dick. She doesn’t resist, but she’s definitely distracted.

“What’s with the moths?” she asks, placing a soft kiss at the corner of my eye.

It’s weird to shiver with both the pleasure of her kiss and revulsion for the moth. As good as she feels, an intruder moth has the power to send me running. I grimace and concentrate on her scent, her warm skin. “I hate them.”

Libby makes a soft sound. “I got that. Why?” Her fingers trace patterns through my shorn hair.

“It’s stupid.” I kiss my way up her neck. “I was nine. At summer camp. A moth flew in my ear, started fluttering around…” A full-body shudder threatens to dislodge Libby from my lap, and I squeeze her tight, pressing my face into her hair. “Let’s not talk about it.”

She chuckles, her hands roaming over my shoulders, my nape. “Poor Killian. Don’t worry; you’re safe now.”

I grunt, nudging her with my hips. “I’m not convinced. Kiss it and make it better, Libs.”

I can almost feel her smile. “Where does it hurt, baby?”

“The tip of my dick.”

Libby hums, rocking against said dick. “Hmm… So a moth crawled up your—”

With a yell, I leap up, sending her butt to the floor, where she cracks up as I jump away. I glare as my chest lifts and falls. “You are fucking evil. Evil.”

I try not to notice that her shirt is around her waist and her legs are spread wide as she lays there laughing her ass off. Libby wipes her eyes. “You walked right into that one.”

No, I won’t smile. Growling like I mean it, I swoop down and haul her up. She squeals as I throw her over my shoulder and toss her onto the bed, landing on top of her before she can get away. Caging her between my arms, I frown down at her. She just smiles and laughs.

“You’re supposed to be repentant,” I say.

She responds by craning her neck and kissing the tip of my nose. “Okay.”

I settle more comfortably between her legs. “Don’t give me that cute smile.” My lips brush her cheek. “I’m mad at you.”

“Uh-huh.” Her hands find my neck, her fingers digging into the tense muscles there. She snickers again.

“Keep laughing,” I say. “See where that gets you.”

“Did you know you can laugh yourself to death?”

“What? Fuck, don’t tell me that.” I kiss the crook of her neck, lingering there. “I’ll end up living in fear that one of us will die laughing.”

My hands bracket her delicate jaw, and I kiss her again, just to feel the shape of her smile. Libby melts beneath me, her lips opening. But I’m not the one doing the taking. She kisses me like I’m her favorite flavor.

Her lips curve against mine. Another smile. I’d have all of them if I could. This is why going out no longer means anything. If the guys had this, they’d get it.

“Don’t worry,” she says, playing with the short ends of my hair. “I’ll protect you.”

“Protect me from laughing? I don’t see how since you’re the one who usually makes me laugh.”

“Whenever you’re in danger of losing your breath with laughter…” She suckles my earlobe, brining me in close, her voice a soft tickle on my skin. “I’ll mention moths.”

I yelp, a jolt of ear-to-moth-induced terror lighting through me. Libby tosses her head back, cackling. I launch myself on top of her, my fingers finding her sensitive spots. “You evil pixie. Cruel, evil…”

Words dissolve. I’m done for with this girl. I sink against her with a sigh, careful not to crush her, but letting her feel my weight. My eyes close as I wrap myself around her. “I missed you today.”

My voice is muffled in her hair but she goes still, clearly hearing me.

“I was right there with you,” she says in a low voice.

“Were you?” My back tenses, and I remember her earlier distance, the coldness of being shut out. “Felt like you were somewhere else.”

She tenses too, her body squirming. I don’t let her go. She’ll run, and I hate that.

“Killian, let me breathe.”

“Breathing’s overrated,” I mutter but roll off her.

Libby sits and swings her feet over the side of the bed, giving me her back. Fuck it. I’m not letting her hide. I push up and sit next to her.

“Scottie talked to me today,” she says, staring at the floor.

“I saw.” I’d been waiting for her to tell me. For any word. Instead I’d gotten silence.

An exasperated sound tears from her throat. “You could have warned me.”

“Yeah, I could have.” I run a hand along the back of my neck. “I didn’t want to.”

She turns toward me so fast, her hair slaps my shoulder. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

I snort, holding her glare. “So you could run from it? Talk yourself out of things before you heard what he had to say? No, Libs, I’m not kidding.”

“You don’t know that—”

“I do. I know you. Whether you want to admit that or not.” I lean closer. “I. Know. You.”

I hear her teeth clack. “If you know me so well,” she grinds out, “you should know I don’t want or need you to plot my life.”

“And if you knew me at all, you’d never accuse me of that.” I lurch to my feet and pace away, my face going hot. “Shit. I mean, you seriously think that’s what I did?”

She crosses her arms over her chest. “You just admitted to talking to him!”

“Talking, Libs. That’s all. Jesus.” I clamp my hands to the back of my aching head. “He asked my opinion. I gave it. Don’t turn this into some wild conspiracy.”

Libby stands, her fists balling at her sides. “Are you telling me you didn’t bring me here thinking this would happen? That you didn’t, for one second, think about Scottie trying to make me something I’m not?”

“You think I’m going to deny that the second I played with you I knew you’d be great on a stage? I’m not.” I laugh without humor. “And you shouldn’t either.”

She blows out a breath. “I’m not a star.”

Something in me softens, and I take a step closer. “You’re already halfway there. You just don’t see it yet.”

Panic flares in her eyes, and she backs up, her lips parting as the struggles to breathe. “I want this.”

The crazy thing? I’m the one who lights up inside. Her successes have become mine. “Babe, you’ll have it.”

But she shakes her head as if I’m not getting it. “A few months ago, I was living by the sea. The only people I talked to were Mrs. Nellwood and old George at the gas station.”

“And did you like it?”

“I hated it,” she hisses, her eyes going glassy. “You took me out of that. I never dreamed this life would happen. But it’s here. And now…” A furious blush stains her cheeks. God, my girl has pride by the boatload. But her confidence has been kicked hard. Libby brushes back a lock of her hair and lifts her chin like she’s squaring off for a hit. “You agree with Scottie that I should do something that will take me away.”

The implication hits me like a brick. My heart squeezes in my chest. She’s so fucking wrong. How can she be so right for me and so wrong about herself? I close the gap between us and draw her into my arms. She struggles, trying to break free as I “shhh” her under my breath and rub her arms.

“It’s not about sending you away, baby doll. It’s about setting you free.”

Her back stiffens. “Free? I’m sorry, but that’s just semantics, Killian.”

“No way,” I say against her cheek, still holding fast. “You want the truth? When Scottie told me he was going to ask to represent you, a part of me hated the idea.” My fingers grip her silky hair. “A big part of me. Because I want you here. With me. Always.”

She sucks in a breath, like she’s going to respond, probably tear into me. So I kiss her, soft, searching, then hard and a little desperate. We’re both panting when I pull away. My chest hurts, and when I rest my forehead against hers, I’m suddenly so weary I have to close my eyes.

“But that’s selfish, Libby. And I can’t do that to you. Never to you. Because you deserve that chance, even if it pulls you away from me for a time. So I told him to go for it.”

“Killian.” She sighs and rubs her hands along my chest, almost as if it soothes her more than me. “Not everyone has your confidence. Some of us need to feel our way around a little.”

My lips press against her forehead, and I breathe her in before speaking. “Babe, if I’ve learned anything about opportunity, it’s that you make it happen. Fear will only hold you back. You can have the world. Just reach for it.”

“I don’t need the world,” she whispers.

“What do you need?” I ask just as softly.

Her hands slide up to my neck, her lips nuzzling my jaw. “You.”

I swear my knees go weak. I have to lock it up, suck in a breath. I hug her tight, unwilling to let go even to find her mouth. Not yet. “Fuck, Libby.” I snuggle her closer. “We need to stop hiding. I fucking hate it.”

I feel her tense and cup her cheeks. Her eyes are wide and panicked. It pisses me off and makes me want to cuddle her, protect her from the world. Only I’m the source of her pain. Which is a kick in the gut. It turns my voice raw. “You want me, but you want to hide us?”

“When you put it that way, you make it sound petty.”

“Well, excuse me for stating the facts.” Irritation crawls up my spine.

She flinches, her fingers wrapping around my wrists. She holds me there. “Words are simple, Killian. Real life is a bit more messy.”

“Bullshit. Why are you resisting this? Because I gotta tell you, it hurts.”

“Jax is just starting to respect me.”

“Jax can go fuck himself,” I snap, then sigh. “Baby doll, you have his respect. It’s not going to go because we’re together.”

“You sure of that?” She doesn’t sound remotely convinced.

I open my mouth to answer, but it gets lodged in my throat. Because who the fuck knows with Jax anymore? Libby’s eyes narrow.

“You can’t even deny it,” she points out.

“Look, maybe I don’t know exactly how he’ll react.”

“And the reporter who asked me if I was fucking you?”

“What?” A lick of anger flicks against my neck. “Who the fuck asked you that?”

“A reporter in Chicago. She asked me flat out if I was fucking you. She wondered why else I—‘a nobody’—would be on tour with you.”

“All right, what’s this chick’s name, because I’m not having that shit.” In fact, I’m rethinking having any fucking reporters at our after parties. Not if they’re going to harass Libby.

“It doesn’t matter,” she says in a weary voice.

“Of course it does—”

“No, Killian. It doesn’t. Not if that’s what they’re all thinking. Getting them fired or cussing them out will only fan the flames.”

“Shit.” I pace in front of her, grasping the back of my neck. “It’s a bunch of bullshit, you know. Anyone who hears you knows you’re talented. Scottie wouldn’t want you as a client if you weren’t. Trust me on that one.”

“I do.” Libby approaches, eyes wide and pained. Her palm rests on my chest a second before she wraps her arms around my waist, and because I can’t stand not touching her, I hug her close. She nips at my neck then sighs. “I hate it, you know. You think it’s easy for me to hide how I feel?” She laughs but it doesn’t sound happy. “God, it’s the worst kind of torture. Even worse than back when we first meet and I was trying to keep my cool and not jump your hot bones.”

My eyes close again, and I rest my cheek on her head. “That so?”

“Mmm-hmmm… Because now, I know what I’m missing.” Her fingers steal under my shirt and stroke. “You are the best part of my day, Killian.”

My throat locks up with embarrassing swiftness, and I hold her tighter.

Delicate fingers run along my back. “Nothing would make me happier than being able to claim you in public. But that joy would be blackened if, in return, we have to deal with ugly speculation.”

I think about how I would have reacted if I’d heard the reporter ask Libby those questions. I would have lost my shit. I know it. And the knowledge sinks like a stone in my gut. Gone are the days of wild, out-of-control rocker behavior. You cause a scene, you’re gonna pay. Record label lawyers breathing down your neck about breach of contract and behavior clauses, press replaying your actions in slow motion over and over. It isn’t pretty.

One of the absolute worst parts of Jax’s suicide attempt were the clips of him being wheeled into an ambulance, which played on a seemingly endless loop, along with the smug-as-fuck reporters discussing why he did it and whether he’d ever recover his career. Was it the band’s fault, or was he was just trying to get attention?

Turning away from the life was the only recourse any of us had to maintain our sanity and dignity.

I take a heavy breath and let it out slow. “Okay, we don’t have to make it public yet. But the guys? They can keep secrets. Hell, we’re trained to close ranks. No one will know shit unless we let them. And I’m tired of hiding this from my friends. I’m tired of lying. It isn’t exactly admirable, either.”

She lets me go and runs her hand through her hair. “I know. But the guys won’t look at me the same way.”

“I disagree. But, hell, it shouldn’t matter what they think.”

She snorts, her lips twisting. “No, it shouldn’t. But it does. And I’ve yet to come across anyone who truly doesn’t care what the people they work with think about them.”

“I don’t.”

“Yes, you do.” She rests a hand on my chest. “You have more confidence than any one man has a right to, but you want your friends’ good opinions. You wanted it for me. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have done all that you did to smooth my way.”

Pressure tightens against my ribs, and I grunt. “Okay, fine. I want them to like you. I want us to get along. But—”

“Right now it’s just us in our own private little bubble. Everything changes when we tell them, for better or worse. If we could just wait…” She bites her lip. “Please, Killian? Please, just a little longer?”

My chest tightens even more. Sure, she has a point, but when will that ever change? And if she doesn’t want this now, when will she? I swallow hard against the lump in my throat. “I hate this. All day I wanted to touch you. It’s not even sex, Lib. I have to fight the impulse to hold your damn hand. I’m cut off at the balls.”

Her mouth quirks, but it only fuels my anger.

“I can’t do this much longer.” The words hang there, sounding harder than I intended.

“Do what?” she asks, her face paling.

I stare at her, realizing I could give an ultimatum. I could force the issue. I’m not used to feeling helpless or hurt. Fuck. I take a breath past the ache in my ribs. “You’ve had a lot heaped on you today. I’m taking a shower.” I back away from her, heading toward the bathroom. “Figure out your shit, Libby. I’ll be here when you do.”

* * *

Libby

I’ve hurt him. I know this. I knew it when I asked Killian to keep our relationship quiet, and when I asked him to continue doing it. I hate hurting him. But I see what he either can’t or refuses to acknowledge. The world isn’t black and white. And the band isn’t all right. They’re walking wounded right now. The love between them is clear. They’re brothers. But Jax leveled a blow they’re still reeling from. And the idea of adding more drama, more uncertainty makes me feel ill.

At first, it was pride that had motivated me to keep my relationship with Killian a secret. But now it’s something more. I care about these guys, as individuals and as a group. I don’t want to get between them when they’re obviously still fragile.

I tell myself all of this. But it doesn’t help when we climb into a limo and head out for the night. The guys want to relax, let off some steam by going to clubs. I should have stayed in, but when Whip called to ask, the look on Killian’s face—as if he expected I’d keep away from him—hurt too.

So here I am, crammed in between Whip and Rye, who are trading jokes over my head: most of them about Killian’s supposed intestinal distress. Putting the pieces together, it sounds as if Killian made an excuse to return to me at the expense of his pride. I feel even lower.

Not that Killian appears bothered by their teasing. He sits across the way, his long body lounging against the seat, his thighs spread wide as if he means to take up as much space as possible. As we drive along, the lights of the city slip in and out of the darkened car, illuminating his face, then throwing it into shadow.

He doesn’t say much, only stares out of the window and occasionally snorts at a shit joke. But then, as if he feels my stare, he glances my way. Our gazes clash, and it’s as if someone’s pulled a rug from under my feet. My insides swoop, heat prickles over my skin. And on the heels of that comes a rush of emotion, squeezing at my heart, catching me by the throat.

It’s always this way. He looks at me, I fall. I have an awful feeling it will be this way my entire life. Killian James wakes me up, makes me whole.

I want to tell him this, to put my hand in his and ask that he never let go. But he glances off, leaning over to say something to Jax. I can’t hear what—my heart is thundering in my ears.

The car halts, the door opens. I’m ushered out to follow the flow of the guys into a club. We head up to a VIP section at the top of a massive circular steel staircase. People watch as we go.

Gazes crawl over my skin. For years the guys have lived this way. I don’t know how they manage. Perhaps they love it. They’re all smiling, clasping hands with people they know, pausing to hear someone whisper in their ears.

Killian is ahead of me, walking with Jax. They’re practically mobbed by women, until just their heads are visible above the swarm. I set my jaw and follow. This is part of Killian’s life. There isn’t a thing I can say here because, in the world’s eyes, I’m just his friend. This hasn’t bothered me before now. It felt more like a secret we shared between us. Women could hover, but they’d never go home with him.

Now it just hurts. Because it suddenly seems as though I’m glimpsing a future where I’m not there. I can’t even pinpoint why I feel this way. Only that Killian and I have been moving along at full-tilt and the slightest knock might push us off course. Or maybe it’s because I know that Killian doesn’t need me as much as I need him. Why would he? He has the world. And I am completely out of my element when it comes to this life.

“I need a pity party cocktail,” I say in Brenna’s ear as she comes alongside me.

Her gold eye shadow glints in the light. “Extra strength?”

“And fruity,” I add. “Pity cocktails should always be fruity.”

She grabs my elbow and leads me to a somewhat quiet little booth in the far corner of the room before she goes off to get us drinks. There are times when the band requests a small room just for them. This is not one of those nights. People flow in and out—mostly in—like cattle through a gate. The music isn’t as loud in here, but it’s enough that conversation isn’t going to be on the agenda. Whip is already standing on one of the tables, dancing with a brunette in a tiny silver dress.

I regret not putting on a little dress as well. In a sea of itty-bitty dresses, I’m the conservative one in black skinny jeans, heeled boots, and a green silk camisole. I’m comfortable, but I don’t feel sexy. There are times when a girl needs sexy. That’s the thing no one ever tells you. Sexy can be both a weapon and a wall of defense.

The booth I’m sitting in wiggles as Rye plops down next to me. He drapes an arm along the back of my shoulders and leans in. “What’s shakin’, bacon?”

My lips pull in a reluctant smile. “Nothin’, stuffin’.”

He takes a sip of what appears to be a gin and tonic—because of course he’s already been served. There’s probably a waitress on standby for him. “You look like you’ve swallowed a goat.”

“A goat?” I laugh. “How the hell does that look?”

“Faintly ill and fighting a gag.”

“You really know how to make a girl feel good about herself, Rye.”

He sticks the tip of his tongue between his teeth in a lewd gesture, but then his expression turns gentle. “I’m serious, Buttercup. You all right?”

“Buttercup?”

“Yeah, you kind of look like Princess Buttercup.”

“That’s about as far a stretch as saying you look like the Dread Pirate Roberts.”

“I could totally rock a mask. It’d be kinky as fuck.” He takes another sip, his eyes roaming before coming back to me. “So, what’s going on? Someone being mean to you?”

“What? No. It’s nothing.”

“You sure? Because I don’t have these massive biceps just for show. I’ll gladly put on the hurt for you.”

“You’re sweet. But it’s really nothing. This is just not my scene.”

“It’s no one’s scene. You have to own it to make it yours.”

“Well, I’m not interested.”

A glance across the room and find Killian’s familiar form. He has two women clinging to his arms, though he doesn’t seem to notice them as he talks to John, one of our sound engineers. The blonde on his left clearly doesn’t like being ignored and begins to stroke his chest. My own chest tightens, and I look away.

“Right there,” Rye points to my face. “Goat look.”

“Argh, would you stop using goat? I’m going to develop a complex.” My laugh feels forced. “I’m fine.”

“Here we are,” Brenna announces brightly as she sets down two martini glasses, filled with lime green liquid. “One fruity, pity-party cocktail—industrial strength.”

Rye gives me a look. “You were saying?”

“What was she saying?” Brenna asks, sitting down and taking a sip of her drink.

At this point it’s a miracle she’s including Rye in the conversation, so even though I’d rather not talk about it, I answer. “That I do not look like I swallowed a goat.”

One finely plucked brow rises. “Of course you don’t, darling. It’s more like you sucked a lemon.”

I roll my eyes and grab my drink. It’s tart, sweet, and burns a little going down. Perfect.

“She’s in a mood,” Rye says. Without warning, he wraps a beefy arm around me and pulls me in for a hug, sloshing my drink all over the table. “There, there, Buttercup, tell me who put the frown on your face, and I’ll best them with my sword.”

A weak laugh breaks free, and I rest my head on his shoulder. I’m an only child, but I know Rye would have made an excellent big brother.

It’s almost strange how I can feel Killian when he comes near. One second, I’m grinning, feeling a bit heartsore but cared for. The next, my body tenses, my heart rate picking up. I know it’s because of him, and it’s not a surprise to look up and see him standing in front of our table.

The blonde is still on his arm. The woman hasn’t done anything remotely wrong, and I hate her.

Everything inside me plummets. I feel like I’ve swallowed a goat.

His gaze flicks to me, then settles on Rye. Tension lines his mouth as he bends forward to be heard. “Hey, man, Jenny here wanted to meet you.”

Rye instantly untangles himself from me and gestures for Jenny to scoot in on his opposite side. “By all means. Meet me, adore me, buy me a drink. I’m good with all the above.”

A barely veiled gagging noise comes from Brenna’s direction. Rye ignores it and tugs Jenny down on his lap.

While she giggles and snuggles close to Rye, Killian glances back at me. His eyes are hard, and I want to laugh. Does he really think I’m cozying up to Rye? The twitch at his jaw tells me he does. I glare back, annoyance plucking at my skin.

“I was going to ask if you two needed anything,” he says, overloud to compensate for the music. “But it looks like you’re taken care of.”

I’d like to tell him where he can take his snide tone. But Brenna cuts in. “Hang out with us.” She sounds almost desperate, her body stiff and her gaze resolutely not on Rye and his new friend.

Killian doesn’t look at me as he shakes his head. “Jax has been giving me shit about being a hermit,” he emphasizes the word like a whip in my direction. “Hiding away in a booth isn’t going to help.”

Ass. I’m not a hermit. Not since he dragged me into this life and made me see what I was missing. And I don’t hide. Okay, right now I have the urge to crawl back into my shell. But I’ve grown out of it. I’d be miserable there too.

A lump rises in my throat, loneliness washing over me like a wave. But then Killian turns to me, leaning in a little. Even in the cold, musty air of the club, I catch his scent, spicy and warm. His coffee eyes soften. “You good?”

The lump in my throat grows. He’s giving me what I asked for. Anonymity. If I don’t want our relationship public, this is how it has to be. But he’s still mine. I can see it now in the way his eyes suddenly look pained.

“I’m good,” I croak.

He peers at me for another second, then nods. “See you.”

As soon as he’s gone, I deflate in my seat.

“Trouble in paradise?” Brenna murmurs in my ear.

I down the rest of my cocktail before answering. “He doesn’t like hiding.”

I don’t worry about Rye overhearing. He already has his tongue down Jenny’s throat, and they’re slowly listing to the right.

Brenna ignores them, her expression so smoothed out, I know it’s costing her. She takes a sip of her cocktail. “My cousin is surprisingly forthright.”

“You think I’m a jerk, don’t you?” I need another drink.

“God, no.” She leans against my shoulder in a show of support. “You’re protecting yourself in a shit world. Doesn’t mean he’ll like it.”

“I thought I was protecting myself,” I tell her, misery swamping me faster than the alcohol can numb it. “But thinking back on how I felt when that reporter questioned me, I think I’d rather tell the world to fuck themselves than cower.”

Brenna knows all about my run in with Ms. Zelda Smith. “Yeah, well, Zelda didn’t seem to have a problem fucking a band member, so she can’t exactly throw stones.”

“Honestly, I don’t want the public in my business. Ever. But that’s more about being a private person in general.”

“They don’t have to be. Famous people hide their relationships all the time. Well…” She gives me an apologetic smile. “For as long as they can, anyway.”

Famous. I want to laugh. I’m not famous. But Killian is. And his life is just coming back into focus.

“If it were just me and him? I might not mind so much. But the guys are getting back together. Jax clearly didn’t want me joining them.”

“You’re protecting them.” She sounds genuinely surprised.

“Is that so wrong?”

A frown works over her face, and she turns her attention toward the part of the room where the guys are now laughing in a group—well, except for Rye, who is making noises so lewd I really don’t want to look.

Brenna’s expression softens as she watches Killian and Whip do some weird sort of hip bump, as if they’re demonstrating a dance move to a bunch of starry-eyed women. “You should have seen them before Jax… They were like a bunch of puppies.” She laughs, takes a drink. “We all were, really. Even Scottie. It was this wild ride, never coming down, party, play, party.”

Emptiness fills me. I can’t be that girl. I don’t want to be.

Brenna glances at me. “It was all bullshit, though. Nothing real. When Jax tried to— It broke us all.”

“Killian said as much—about it shaking them up.”

“He’s right. Yanked us out of childhood.” She shakes her head, pursing her glossy red lips. “It’s not a bad thing, Libby. Living like that wasn’t healthy. These boys, they had nothing to ground them. Nothing that meant anything.”

The music changes to “Right Now” by Mary J. Blige, and a woman pulls Killian out to dance. He lets her. He’s not doing anything lewd. Just dancing. Doesn’t change the fact that another woman has her hands on him, swaying and grinding with the beat.

Brenna talks quietly in my ear. “Life moves forward, Libby. Trying to stop it or rewind is a waste of energy.”

Watching Killian dance cuts into my heart. I can’t breathe. I have never been a jealous person. I can safely say it’s the worst emotion on earth. And now it writhes inside me until I want to throw up just to get rid of the feeling.

All the things I’ve said to him, all the things he’s said to me, the things we’ve done—all of it—whirl around in my brain. I think about that day I first saw him sprawled on my lawn. If I had picked up the phone and called the police instead of engaging with him, I’d be blissfully ignorant right now. Safely hidden away from the world. From life. A life without Killian.

When the woman’s hand drifts to Killian’s butt, I stand, knocking into the table. Drinks slosh, the table screeches.

“Excuse me,” I mutter to Brenna, who wisely scrambles out of my way.

My exit from the table is far from graceful, more like a bulldozer pushing everything out of its way. And Killian’s head jerks up, his eyes finding mine. A worried look works across his face.

I can only stare back, drinking in the sight of him.

His dark hair, cropped close to his well-shaped skull, highlights the sharp curve of his cheek bones, the slashes of his brows, and the soft curl of his lips. He is a beautiful man. Dressed in a black button-down shirt and black slacks, he also looks nothing like the man I found drunk on my lawn. Here, he is the slick millionaire, the effortlessly cool rocker, an untouchable idol everyone wants a piece of.

People surround him, a wall of human flesh between him and me. I ignore it all. This isn’t what’s real.

His frown grows as I walk, my steps determined. Inside, my heart is pounding. I don’t know what he sees in my face, but his careful expression shatters. Dark eyes fill with purpose, his body standing taller. He excuses himself and moves, liquid grace, powerful strides.

I start to shake, deep within me. Desire I can handle. But the emotion in his face, as if he knows—he knows—I’m breaking apart, and he is too, blurs my vision. I blink twice and go to him, shouldering people aside.

He meets me halfway, stopping before me, his height blocking out everything around us. He gazes down at me, searching my face. “Elly May?”

My head tilts back to meet his gaze. “Lawn bum.” I reach up, cup his cheek, sandy with stubble, and tug him close. Our lips meet, his questioning, mine demanding. And then he lets out a low sound, like a sigh, but rougher, needy. His arms wrap around me, hauling my body against his as he angles his head and sinks into a kiss that takes the strength from my knees. But Killian has me secure.

There, on the dance floor, we kiss, and it’s messy, dirty, and filled with silent confessions: I’m sorry. I know. I need you. I need you more.

When we finally pull back, his lips curve in a half smile, and his fingers lace with mine. “All right, then.”

I touch his cheek again. “I adore you, Killian James. Whatever may come of it, I’m no longer willing to hide you away like you’re something to be ashamed of. Everyone should know that.”

His smile grows, and he rests his forehead on mine. “Pretty sure everyone does now.”

I snuggle into his embrace. “Good. Then I won’t have to take out an ad.”

A half-laugh rumbles out of him. His hand slides up to my neck and gives me a squeeze. I close my eyes.

“Time to go,” he whispers. “Before I take you right here.”

I can’t stop grinning. “Move your things to my room. Or I’ll move to yours.”

“Baby doll.” He kisses me again, softly this time, then presses his cheek to mine. “I do, too, you know. So much it hurts.”

“Are you two done?”

Jax’s irritated tone erases our glow in an instant. Killian straightens to his full height and turns. Jax’s look of utter disgust actually hurts to see. I’m not sure I even like the guy, but he’s Killian’s closest friend and important to him.

“Yeah,” Killian says slowly, ice in his voice. “We’re done.”

Jax snorts. “I fucking knew it. Thinking with your dick.”

I twitch, and Killian’s grip on my hand firms as he pulls me closer to his side.

The room stirs, and I realize Brenna and Scottie are directing people out. Bouncers do a great job of helping them clear the room in what seems like seconds.

“Jax, man,” Killian says. “Don’t go there.”

“Why not? We’re all thinking it.”

Whip draws near. “We’re not all thinking that.”

“Definitely not what I’m thinking,” Rye adds. “About time, is more like it.” He gives me a happy smile. “No more swallowing goats.”

“No,” I say, giving him a small smile back.

The rest of the guys are clearly confused by that one.

But Jax snorts. “And yet you all know exactly what I’m thinking.”

“Why don’t you lay it out for me?” Killian asks. There is a silky, dark note in his voice that I’ve never heard before. A definite warning.

Jax either doesn’t hear it or doesn’t care. “If you wanted your side piece to come on tour, you should have just said so. You didn’t have to drag her on stage and mess with the band.”

Killian sucks in a sharp breath and lets it out slowly. “I’m not gonna hit you,” he finally says. “You deserve it. But I’m not. Get this now. That is the last time you disrespect Libby. You got me?”

Jax glances at me, and for a second I see a wince of regret, then it’s gone. “You disrespected yourself,” he says, “hiding and pretending this was about performing.”

“You’re right,” I say before Killian can respond. “Which is why I’m no longer hiding.”

“But you’re still going to pretend like you belong here?”

Okay, that hurt.

Killian snarls, taking a step toward Jax. “What the fuck is your problem?”

“My problem? You fucking lied. To all of us.”

“Dude,” Rye says, shaking his head at Jax. “It was obvious they were together.”

“Seriously. Take your head out of your ass, man,” Whip adds, giving Killian a cheeky smile. “I knew he was gone on her the moment he started waxing lyrical about her voice. And it’s not like they’re very good at hiding those moony looks they keep throwing each other.”

Killian’s eyes narrow. “You knew and you were going to ask her out?”

“Naw, I was just fucking with you, Big K. You should have seen your face. I thought you were going to bust something.” Whip laughs.

“I was about to bust your face,” Killian mutters, but he doesn’t look truly pissed. Not at Whip, anyway. He sets his attention back on Jax. “You used to be better than this.”

“And you used to be straight with me.”

Killian’s brows lift. “You get the hypocrisy you’re throwing my way, right?”

The corners of Jax’s mouth go white. “Nice.”

“Jax,” Whip begins, but Jax gives him a quelling look.

“We didn’t need this bullshit right now,” Jax says. He walks off without another word.